Sandwich
by Unexplained-Silence
Summary: Well, he certainly wasn't expecting a response when he asked if anyone was there. Nor was he expecting to be offered a sandwich. Human AU.
1. Chapter 1

I've had this idea for a while now, And I've had most of it written for a while too. I just haven't known how to finish it, so I decided to change it to human AU. That said, the time frame is the same as Cybertronian, but if I miss any anatomical terms, don't hate me.

Prompt: I found a picture somewhere that said something along the lines of "Why do people in horror movies always call out when they think the bad guy's in their house? What are they gonna say, 'Yeah, I'm in the kitchen. Want a sandwich?'" Or something.

If I owned them, they'd kill me so that I didn't.

* * *

Prowl was relieved when he finally reached the door of his apartment. It had been a long, stressful day at the precinct with several cases at standstills, not to mention Bluestreak's antics. He just wanted to flop onto his nice, comfy Praxian berth, offline his optics, and not move for a whole groon. That would be phenomenal.

But he had an early shift tomorrow. And he had to pick Bluestreak up from Smokescreen's and drop him off at the learning center. And he had to track down First Aid and/or Ratchet for the autopsy report on the latest victim. Basically, tomorrow was not going to be fun in any way.

The keypad beeped admittance when he swiped his keycard, then again after the seven digit entry code. Most apartments only required the use of a keycard, but Prowl was an enforcer. He had seen too many cases of robbery-turned-murder to not be cautious, even when his caution bordered on paranoia, even if it often resulted in him being the center of "Red Alert's lost twin" jokes.

He stepped inside and the door slid shut behind him. Finally. Peace and quiet. With a sigh Prowl pushed himself away from the door and stepped towards his office door. Then he froze, and looked back at the coffee table in front of the couch. Or rather, at the data pads on top of the table. When he left at the start of the cycle, they had been in clean, orderly stacks, as per the norm in Prowl's apartment. Now, they were strewn across the surface as though a young child had handled them. One was even on the floor, for Primus' sake!

Perhaps Smokscreen had visited? But Smokescreen knew how Prowl was about tidiness, and so did Bluestreak. Besides, Smokescreen had said he was showing Bluestreak the Iaconian Crystal Gardens (which were in no way as beautiful as those in Praxus but still rather lovely), and that he wouldn't be back until very late tonight. Hence why Prowl had to pick Bluestreak up next cycle.

According to his strong sense of logic, there was only one other possibility.

"Hello?" Prowl's voice came out soft, and he cleared his throat before calling again, more strongly this time, "Hello? Anyone there?"

He did not expect an answer of course. Criminals would never give away their presence like that. So the amused-sounding voice that answered had Prowl nearly jumping out of his skin.

"Yeah, Ah'm in the kitchen. Want a sandwich?"

Prowl whirled around to find a lean man with olive skin and blue-tinted reflective sunglasses leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, smirking at him. His enforcer training and instincts tried to kick in, demanding that he pull his handgun, find some cover, tackle the man, do _something, _but all he could manage in his state of shock was a weak, "What..?"

The smirk widened into a grin and the glasses flashed in the light. "A sandwich. 'S got roas' beef on it, an' fresh lettuce, and otha' stuff." Some part of Prowl's mind noticed that this man's accent was Polyhexan, and that he really didn't pronounce the letter "r" so much as leave an audial fill-in-the-blank. The rest of Prowl's processor was furiously trying to figure out precisely how this man got into _his_ home without a keycard, much less the passcode, who this man was, what he was doing here with...a roast beef sandwich?

The mech in question tilted his helm, and his smile became a frown. "Ah gotcha some cappuccino too." Odd, the man's voice almost sounded a bit dejected now. A small downward motion of his head only added to Prowl's impression that he was hoping for a different reaction. "Thought ya'd like it."

Finally, Prowl's mind snapped away from exactly why there was a strange man in his apartment that had brought a roast beef sandwich and...cappuccino. Prowl loved cappuccino.

With his mind back in focus, Prowl's self-defense training kicked in, and in two seconds, the other black and white was lying with his face pushed into the hard floor of the kitchen.

But instead of jumping with surprise or struggling to free himself, which would have been the polite response to being tackled and having a handgun pressed against the back of one's head, this man just laughed. Laughed. Oddly enough, the sound was laced with a hint of relief. "Ya could'a just asked, Prowler. Ah got it fo' you." Something told Prowl that the man beneath him was not too concerned with the expected politeness of such a situation. That, or he simply always attempted to do something unexpected. Prowl didn't want to think about it. He was already experiencing a dull throb in the front of his head.

He really didn't want to think about how the man already knew his name. He hadn't introduced himself. He especially didn't want to think about how this man knew his favourite sandwich type (because yes, he _did_ have a favourite sandwich type), or how this man knew he loved cappuccino. He would instead focus on more important things.

"How did you get into my apartment? There are no signs of breaking and entering, so it wasn't by force. And my name is _Prowl_." Finally, Prowl's voice was cooperating with him! Unfortunately, the man beneath him wasn't. His low, threatening growl was met with another laugh, and the man easily rolled onto his back despite having the full weight of another man pinning him down. The action nearly threw Prowl off, but thankfully he was able to shift so that his knee was pressing into the man's abdominal area.

Despite how much that had to hurt, the man didn't flinch, and he was still wearing that infuriating smirk. "Yo' apartment? Accordin' to th' residence log, this is _our_ apartment."

"Say what now?" Normally, Prowl would never respond with something so impromptu, but this man was really getting under his skin. "What do you mean, 'our apartment?'"

The mech laughed again. "See fo' yo'self." He had somehow managed to situate himself so that he could pull a datapad from the pocket on his black-and-white jacket.

Prowl moved so that the gun was pressed against the man's chest. He wasn't about to put it away. So he had to use the hand that had been supporting him against the kitchen tile to accept the datapad. Unfortunately, that meant he also had to straddle the man for security reasons. And just like he had suspected, the man gave a cheeky grin at the change in positions.

The grin was met with a glare, but the mystery man just chuckled in response to his response. How incredibly inconsiderate.

Managing with just one hand, Prowl booted up the 'pad, which actually did hold a copy of the apartment complex's residence log.

And there it was. Apartment C-591 displayed Prowl's designation, along with the name 'Jazz.'

It was too much. Prowl's strong sense of logic couldn't handle it, and he felt the sharp stabbing headache that came before he fainted.

The last thing Prowl saw before everything went dark was the man, Jazz, he was assuming, grinning widely at him. And he had been so close to beating his record, too.

* * *

Soooooooo...like? I don't know if I'm going to add any more to this. I could, but I could also let this stand alone. Idk. *shrugs*


	2. Chapter 2

Well, it's an update. I really seem to be bullying poor Prowl, don't I? But he can handle it...I'm pretty sure...

Also I apologize for any mistakes regarding the aftereffects of blacking out. I'm not a med student.

* * *

_The Next Morning..._

Prowl awoke to the sound of voices. One of them he recognized, but the other one was unfamiliar.

His eyes wouldn't open. Literally, they _would not_ open. With a low groan he raised his arm, which felt like lead, and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

When he could see his surroundings, the first thing he noticed was the light filtering through the window. It had already been dark when he'd gone to sleep. Had he gone to sleep last cycle? It wouldn't be the first time if he'd decided to work late and had ended up passing out.

But that would mean...

Crap! He'd slept through when he was supposed to meet Bluestreak and Smokescreen!

All other thoughts suddenly forgotten, Prowl rolled off of his berth and made a beeline for his phone, ignoring the fact that he was wearing only the boxer shorts that he slept in. He'd have to dress later, after he apologized to his brothers.

He passed through the living area, focused on nothing but the clean, shining metal of the apartment's landline.

There was something that had woken him up, though. He tried to remember what it was, but couldn't. Besides, he'd dialed Smokescreen's number by now and could hear the phone ringing. He'd have to figure out what it was later.

_Meanwhile..._

So far Jazz's association with Prowl had been anything but normal. Not even five minutes after he'd met the man, Prowl had fainted.

And wasn't a swooning sort of faint, like how most people would faint upon meeting him. It was a 'I-can't-deal-with-this-situation-so-I'm-going-to-end-my-perception-of-it' sort of faint.

Even though Optimus _had_ warned him that something like that could happen, he hadn't expected it to be so...sudden. For all that Optimus told him about Prowl, Jazz had thought that the blackouts were rare. How else would someone with such a handicap get to be the highest ranking officer in the station besides the Prime himself? Though he was pretty sure that the man would kill him if Jazz ever dared to call Prowl handicapped.

But yet, Prowl had blacked out after being presented with the change in living accommodations. It was eerily similar to how computers crashed, actually, and it made no sense.

And now here he was, waltzing past them in naught but his boxers, seemingly completely unaware that he even had guests.

A look at Optimus's expression confirmed that this was abnormal for Prowl. In fact, the Prime looked a bit embarrassed for the Praxian.

Okay. Maybe a lot embarrassed for him. The Prime's entire face was red.

Optimus didn't seem to know what to say, whether or not they should announce their presence or let the man figure it out himself. Jazz however, wanted to let Prowl figure it out, and calmly sipped the coffee that he'd made earlier while Prowl dialed a number on the phone. After all, he hadn't been entirely uncomfortable when Prowl had collapsed on top of him.

"Hey, Smokescreen. It's Prowl. Look, I'm really sorry for missing the transfer. I forgot to set my alarm and-" The remorse was rather obvious in his voice.

There was silence for a few minutes as Smokescreen responded, then Prowl spoke again. "You did? Oh, thank you. I know it means a lot to Bluestreak, and I'll have to personally apologize to him when I get the chance, but I owe you one."

His voice was just a little bit groggy-sounding from having just woken up, and Jazz wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

But enough about that.

With a few final apologies and some extra IOU's, Prowl ended the call. Jazz's sensitive ears caught a small sigh and the sound of footsteps on the tile floor.

This was going to be good.

_Simultaneously..._

Prowl hung the phone up and sighed. He hadn't missed a transfer with Bluestreak in a long time, and he was proud of the fact. Their parents had passed just a few years ago, and Blue was still too young to take care of himself. So Prowl and Smokescreen had done everything in their combined power to make him feel welcome, accepted, and loved.

It was hard, but they'd been managing. Somehow they'd managed to work around very busy scheduling, school, and whatever it was Smokescreen did for a profession. (Prowl knew he wasn't just a psychologist. No University on the planet would have given him a degree.)

He'd really have to make it up to little Blue.

But until he got the chance, he'd have to log the blackout.

Prowl crossed the modest kitchen to where he kept the phonebook and opened the drawer. He dug around until he found the small pocket calendar opened it to the day's date. Using a thumb as a bookmark, he backtracked and counted the days since the last incident—a total of 34 days. With the new total he wrote the number in the square for that day along with the time he was writing it and put the calendar back where it was.

He started to turn back to the living room, but something stopped him. Last time...Ratchet had given him some vile-tasting pills to take when he came to.

For a tik, he pondered whether or not he could get by with simply not taking them, but Ratchet would hunt him down if he found out. And he _would_ find out. Besides, they actually did help a lot with the infernal stiffness and remembering what had caused his blackout. Not to mention the ache in his skull.

With two of the pills and a glass of cold water in hand, he entered the living area and was headed towards his bedroom, but a small sound made him freeze in his tracks.

Very slowly Prowl turned to see who had the backbone to chuckle. _Chuckle_.

But when he looked into the already-too-familiar smile of 'Jazz,' he suddenly felt he wouldn't need help remembering what made him pass out.

"Good mornin'."

Unfortunately neither the sound nor the feeling of shattering glass snapped Prowl out of his sudden state of cold rage, nor did it wipe that infuriating smirk from Jazz's face.

* * *

I swear...this was not meant to be a shipper fic. But then Jazz happened.

Why can't I write Jazz- and Prowl-centric work that isn't shipping them? (T-T)


End file.
